Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to thy Deity.
God! thus alone iny lowly thoughts can soar,
Thus seek thy presence-Being wise and good!
'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.

TONE OF REMORSE.

(See Tone Drill No. 166.)

[The tone of Remorse proclaims agony of mind. It indicates that something troubles the conscience.]

Dream of Richard III.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

Give me another horse!-bind up my wounds !—
Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft! I did but dream.—
O, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!-
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No;-yes; I am:
Then fly,-What, from myself? Great reason why?
Lest I revenge. What! Myself upon myself?
Alack! I love myself. Wherefore? for any good,
That I myself have done unto myself?
O! no: alas! I rather hate myself.
For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well:-Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, foul perjury, in the high'st degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the dir❜st degree:
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all,-Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair.-There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me:--

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.

Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
-Richard III, i., 3.

Wolsey on His Fall.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;

But far beyond my depth: My high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new opened: 0, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

-Henry VIII, iii., 2.

THE TONE OF EXULTATION.

(See Tone Drill No. 96.)

[The tone of Exultation indicates a personal joy bordering on

gloating.]

Gloster on His Wooing of Lady Anne.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?

Was ever woman in this humour won?

I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate,

With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all,

But the plain devil and dissembling looks,

And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!

Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,

Framed in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,

The spacious world cannot again afford:

And will she yet debase her eyes on me,

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,

And made her widow to a woful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?

On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
And entertain some score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my
shadow as I

pass.

-Richard III, i., 2.

TONE OF DESPAIR.

(See Tone Drill No. 66.)

[The tone of Despair manifests absolute helplessness.]

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn.

ROBERT BURNS.

"Ye scattered birds that faintly sing,

The reliques of the vernal quire!
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
The honors of the agèd year!

A few short months, and glad and gay,
Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e;

But nocht in all revolving time

Can gladness bring again to me.

"I am a bending, agèd tree,

That long has stood the wind and rain;

But now has come a cruel blast,

And my last hald of earth is gane:
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring,
Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom;
But I maun lie before the storm,

And ithers plant them in my room.

"I've seen sae mony changefu' years,
On earth I am a stranger grown;
I wander in the ways of men,
Alike unknowing and unknown:
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved,

I bear alane my lade o' care,
For silent, low, on beds of dust

Lie a' that would my sorrows share.

"And last (the sum of a' my griefs!)
My noble master lies in clay;
The flower amang our barons bold,

His country's pride, his country's stay:

In weary being now I pine,

For a' the life of life is dead,

And hope has left my agèd ken,
On forward wing for ever fled.

TONE OF MALEDICTION.

(See Tone Drill No 134.)

[The tone of Malediction denotes that the speaker wishes evil to come to some person or thing. It is usually the accompaniment of hatred.]

Curse on Rome.

CORNEILLE.

Rome, sole object of my resentment! Rome, to which thy arm has just sacrificed my lover!

Rome, which has seen thee born, and which thy heart adores! Rome, in short, which I